“Well,” he drawled. “It’s not all gloom and doom down here. I have a view. Several, in fact.”
He leaned across his desk and tapped a button on the console. Monitors she had not noticed embedded in the far wall now came to life. Each revealed a different angle of the science center. One monitor showed the empty front entrance. Another screen revealed a close-up of the pier, and the ramp to the Odyssey. There were several other locations within the facility on display, but all looked abandoned.
“You spoke to someone over the intercom at the front door. Was he here or at a remote location? This place looks vacant.”
“Flinn?” Jack moved towards the office door. He reached his hand out to her in invitation. “He’s here. Probably got his nose stuck in a beaker.”
An image of Beaker from the Muppets came to mind.
Staring at that procured hand, she hesitated. To take it would speak volumes. It would shout trust. If this man meant to harm her he had ample opportunities already. Hell, she was fifty feet underground in a near-abandoned facility.
Looking up into his eyes she delved through storm clouds for a brief glimpse into his soul. And there—there she witnessed his conviction—she saw the components that could build trust. There was anguish as well. Sorrow. Regret. If the hue wasn’t so reminiscent of a nor’easter she would have thought she was looking into a mirror.
Reaching for his brawny hand she felt that imperceptible squeeze. Its stability encouraged her to follow him out into the stark corridor.
In solemn tones, Jack chronicled each doorway they passed. They were ghostly portals made more ominous by the dim lighting.
“Where are we going?” she asked, conscious of the warmth and texture of his fingers entwined with hers.
“The cafeteria. I don’t know about you, but I need coffee and a stale donut.”
Livvy’s stomach churned. They hadn’t eaten since last night. Pork chops and salad under the dim kitchen light. The dinner would have been downright intimate except for the portent of danger and her gawking black eye.
She followed him into a small cafeteria dotted with circular tables and plastic chairs. The walls were lined with photos of marine life, students in lab coats, and research vessels. Her nose twitched at the scent of coffee. Jack released her hand and slipped behind a counter on the far side of the room. Collecting two mugs from a stack against the wall, he reached for the coffee maker and held up the glass pot.
“See, I told you Flinn was here.” He poured the two cups, speaking across the counter. “You can come back here. There should be milk in the refrigerator. I can’t promise it’s current, though.”
Livvy passed by the cash register and behind the serving bar.
“Aren’t you ripping off your own establishment?” she asked. “Should I put money in the register for this?”
His shoulder quaked slightly.
“That register is more for show. They figure that if you’re using this cafeteria, then you’ve probably put in more hours than you’re getting paid for. Might as well get some perks.”
He took a sip of his coffee. “The main cafeteria, which is about five times the size of this one, is on the top floor. The floor we came in on. It serves employees, students, and visitors. It even has a store with Pennington collectables in it. You know—baseball hats, sweatshirts, and seal toys.”
“Wow. You guys are the big time.”
“Nothing says Marine Studies like a purple stuffed animal.”
Squeezing past him in the tight alley, Livvy angled her hips sideways to slip through. As her thighs inadvertently grazed his, her eyes flew up and she stumbled over his shoe.
Warm fingers curled around her forearm to steady her.
“I’m a klutz,” she joked.
The fingers did not relax. It wouldn’t matter if they did. Rapt by his gaze, she was immobilized. Suddenly the fleece was suffocating. She yearned to claw at her clothes−to have air reach her fevered flesh.
When his hand finally moved, it gradually climbed her arm to curve over her shoulder and gently cup her neck. The calloused tip of a thumb caressed her jaw.
That sensation clogged her breath.
What was he doing?
A soft clink hinted that he had set down his coffee mug. Now his other hand was touching her face as his gaze searched hers. The rhythmic stroke of those thumbs, and the captivating waves in his eyes made her feel that she was on a tiny raft, afloat at sea with him.
“Let me get a look at that eye,” he whispered thickly.
He leaned in and her head tipped back under the gentle coaxing of his thumbs. Every second his gaze lingered on her bruise was like a physical caress to it. When his eyes connected with hers, it seemed the slate blue was only a faint eclipse around large dark pupils.
Maybe he made a tsking sound in the back of his throat. Maybe he murmured sounds of remorse and consolation. Maybe he whispered her name.
At this proximity it was impossible to focus. Her eyes dropped closed.
…and she waited.
At the first sense of his lips against her cheek, she trembled. The hands that cupped her head held her steady as that rugged tenderness brushed against her flesh. Again his lips returned to that tender curve. On its final sweep his soft kiss fell dangerously close to her mouth.
Livvy wanted to turn into it, to meet with her mouth that which had just cherished her face…but she was paralyzed.
Choking down a whimper of protest when cold air fell between them, she finally opened her eyes.
Big mistake.
A wicked sea of angst and desire knocked her stomach off balance. She had spent nearly her whole life on the ocean−and now, for the first time in this cafeteria, she felt seasick.
“I needed to do that,” he declared huskily. “I wanted to do that last night in your kitchen.”
Livvy gulped and fought the urge to hold onto him for balance. Instead she leaned back against the counter.
“Why?”
At this close perspective she could see every rugged chink in his armor. A small scar on the chin, mature freckles from the sun, a few grooves at the corners of his beautiful eyes−
“Because,” he cleared his throat, “I see how much that must hurt, and a kiss is supposed to make it better, right? I want to make it better.” Frustration carved a line in his forehead. “So far I’m not doing a good job of it through leg work. I thought the old-fashioned way might help.”
“Oh−” She felt foolish. She also felt aroused.
Dark lashes dropped, obscuring his eyes. He kept them closed for a moment, nodding to himself.
“To hell with that. The truth is that I wanted to kiss you,” he hesitated, his glance landing on her mouth. “I still do.”
“Oh−” Her lips formed a small circle.
Uncontrolled, her gaze dropped to his mouth, to the full lips that had just brushed so feverishly across her flesh.
A low growl crept from his throat and he thrust a hand behind his neck, as if he was trying to haul himself back−away from temptation.
“Hey, there you are!”
Jolted by the invasion, she swiveled around and bashed her hip against the counter.
A man in a white lab coat approached, drawing up short when he saw her.
“Well−” black eyebrows vaulted over a cocoa-colored face, “−dis is a surprise.”
Teeth flashed as bright as the lab coat as he added, “Jack doesn’t usually bring in guests.”
The accent had an island flare. The Caribbean. Jamaica, perhaps.
Gathering that this must be Flinn, the image of the orange-headed Beaker character was replaced with a regal man who should be featured in a GQ layout.
“There’s coconut in the coffee again.” Jack’s deep voice rumbled from behind her.
The alley behind the counter was tight enough that she could feel the brush of his thigh against the back of her leg. Damn, she wanted to lean back. She wanted to nestle her rear−
“Olivia M
cKay, meet Flinn Dalton—technician extraordinaire, and saboteur of our,” he hesitated, “—coffee supply.”
Livvy gathered herself and smiled. After the technician’s stare lingered, her smile faltered. Surely he saw the heat in her cheeks. Surely he noticed her heart still pounding. Surely he witnessed the lingering lust in her dewy-eyed gaze.
“Very nice to meet you, Miss McKay.” Dark eyes probed her face. “Has Jack hired a boxer for additional security?”
Livvy’s hand flew to her cheek. Oh! That’s what he was staring at.
“That is in fact what I have done,” Jack declared.
Stabilizing fingers dusted across her hip as he scooted past her and disappeared through a kitchen swing door, leaving her to deal with the curious scientist.
“I had an accident at home,” she explained feebly.
A swoosh of air billowed the back of her hair as Jack reemerged clutching an Entenmanns box.
“Uh-uhh!” Flinn’s palm splayed in the air. “Where are you going with my lunch?”
“Lunch? You’re going home for lunch, my friend. This facility is shutting down today.”
Flinn’s eyes flared. “Is there something I need to know?”
Take a picture, it lasts longer.
Livvy was growing more and more uncomfortable under his curious gawking.
“Stop staring, Dalton.” Jack gave her a quick wink, which caused a feathery feeling inside her chest. “She had an accident. Now I’m serious, man.” His expression sobered. “I want you to go home now. I mean, now.”
A well-manicured eyebrow arched. “I’m in the middle of some pH testing.”
“Now,” Jack emphasized.
Both men stared each other down until finally the dark-complected technician raised his hands in compliance.
“Fine. Fine. I don’t want to wind up with a black eye as well.”
Livvy dragged in a breath as she saw Jack’s expression cloud. It was an unfair jab.
“He didn’t do this.” Her hand flailed at her face.
Flinn regarded her for another moment, and then he grinned at Jack. “I’ll be damned. I think she likes you.” He shook his head. “Must be your fetching sense of humor.”
“Obviously,” Jack smirked mirthlessly.
Judging from their banter, either Flinn was not aware of Jack’s uncle’s disappearance, or he was not aware of the circumstances behind it. Armed with that assumption she swallowed down any retorts.
After another awkward pause and exchange of glances, Flinn finally bowed his head.
“Very well then. I’ll consider my pH tests a bust and start over on Monday.” He hesitated and added, “Again, I ask, is there anything I should be concerned about?”
“No,” Jack responded a little too quickly.
“Any word on Warren?”
Okay, maybe he did know about the Algonquin.
“The Coast Guard is still searching.”
Dark lips dropped into a flat line. “I’m sorry, man. If there is anything I can do—”
“Thanks—” Jack curled a fist over his mouth and coughed slightly. “Go on,” he nodded. “Call it a day, Flinn. I’m shutting the place down for the remainder of the weekend.”
Unsure, Flinn considered them a few moments longer and then tipped his head in compliance. “Seriously, man, call me if you need me.”
Polished heels pivoted, and the starched lab coat snapped on its way out the door.
Such a contrast. Flinn Dalton and Jack Morell. Flinn was attractive. Too much so. Almost beautiful with his narrow nose, high cheekbones, and perfect haircut.
Livvy cast a discreet glimpse at Jack. He wasn’t wearing a silk shirt under a lab coat. No, he wore a navy crew sweater and jeans that rose low over his hips, and he didn’t look like a polished lab technician with salon-styled hair. He looked like a man that should be wrestling a shark with one hand and saving a sea lion with the other.
“He knows about your uncle?” she asked in a thick voice.
“The staff is aware that Warren and the Algonquin have not been heard from. That’s all they know, though.”
So, they don’t know the whole story. Jack has been bearing this burden alone.
Livvy cleared her throat. “You’re sending him home because the FBI is on the way?”
Jack swiped at his face. “Right.”
Wincing at his unease she wrung her hands and muttered, “I see.”
The shower of goosebumps brought on by the earlier conversation dissipated under the gravity of the moment.
“Let’s head back to my office so we can scan the monitors for their arrival.”
“And eat donuts?” she tried to goad a smile.
Jack glanced down at the box tucked under his arm. “Yes,” he smiled with a tinge of regret. “And to eat donuts.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
Flipping on the lights, Jack stepped aside to admit Olivia. As she passed by he released a pent-up breath.
What the hell was I thinking? I almost kissed her. Hell, I did kiss her.
He could still feel the soft curve of her cheek beneath his lips, and the warm flesh that seemed to burn under his touch. God, how he’d wanted to taste her mouth.
It had to be a byproduct of the tension and stress of the past few days. Yes. The trauma of witnessing that contusion on her face. And the pain of the unknown regarding his uncle. He needed someone−and that’s all it was. A comradery with the only person who shared the drama that had unfolded.
Yes.
Those were all plausible, convenient excuses.
But, dammit, I still want to kiss her.
“Have a donut.” He handed her the box as he crossed behind his desk, avoiding any glimpse of her soft mouth.
Perhaps the wooden barrier could stave off his wayward thoughts.
It worked. Behind the desk he was sobered into action as he surveyed the bank of monitors. Soon the FBI would be here and they would whisk Olivia away to safety. Maybe someday if he located his uncle and everything settled down again, he could pay a visit to McKAY CHARTERS. Maybe its bewitching owner would take him out on a tour of the coast−a tour where neither would concentrate on the rugged shoreline. Maybe then he could kiss her like he wanted to.
A red flashing light in the lower left corner of one of the monitors nearly went undetected as a byproduct of his racing pulse. Jack took a step towards it to make sure he wasn’t seeing things.
“Whaww?” Olivia glanced up with a mouthful of sugar donut. She used the donut to point at a screen and some white powder dropped onto her thigh. “Oh look, Flinn listened. I see him getting in his car.” She hesitated. “It looks like he’s safely on his way.”
“Good,” Jack acknowledged, distracted by the blinking red light. He had to reset the system to be sure. It could be a fluke.
Walking back to his computer, he opened up the GPS software. His hand jerked when the phone beside his keyboard blared. A quick glimpse at the monitors confirmed that the FBI had not shown up yet. He snatched up the receiver.
“Jack Morell.”
“Mr. Morell. I am responding to your voice mail. I was tied up in meetings this morning−several regarding the Eclipse Container Line.”
The British woman? What was her name?
“Amanda Newton,” she responded to his inner thoughts.
“Yes,” he snapped. “I remember.” The wacko British chick who knew too much. “I researched your company as you suggested—and your title seems legitimate—” He caught Olivia watching him. The discoloration around her eye was beginning to turn sallow at the edges. Her lips were dotted with powdered sugar. “But it doesn’t explain why you want to speak to my uncle.”
“Mr. Morell. Let me just cut to the chase as they say, and list the details that have come to my attention.”
Jack searched the monitors for any sign of the FBI. If he had to cut this woman off, God knew when he’d connect with her again−and maybe they’d be interested in talking to her as well.
“
The MV Pembrook, an Eclipse cargo ship carrying 2700 automobiles sank just south of Nova Scotia. It was presumed to be the victim of Hurricane Beatrice, but salvage crews were unsuccessful in locating the vessel.”
Olivia was staring at him. Every few seconds those cerulean eyes would slice to the monitors on the walls.
“My company,” the British woman continued, “BLUE-LINK, was hired by the Eclipse line to do a viability study on the New York – Halifax route. We have since been sued by the Eclipse parent company for negligence in reporting accurate weather patterns and falsifying the potential of the route.”
Jack snorted. “That’s absurd.”
“Indeed,” the woman stated mildly. “However, because of such absurdity, and to protect my company, I have had to fund a search into the whereabouts and demise of the MV Pembrook.”
Again his head shook in disbelief. “Because naturally you could locate a ship that the Coast Guard, in their exhaustive pursuit, and several high profile private operations could not.”
“I have resources, and the reputation of BLUE-LINK to concern myself with. Consider me motivated, Mr. Morell.”
Before his desk, Olivia rose to pace. On each rotation she paused and eyed the monitors.
“All fascinating information,” Jack caught a glimpse of the flashing red light in the bottom left monitor again. He tensed. “Remind me why this concerns my uncle.”
He refused to acknowledge that this woman had made a correlation between Warren and the sunken Eclipse ship. Let her present all her facts.
Unruffled, the smooth voice continued. “I have a record of a call placed from the MV Algonquin to the Nova Scotia Coast Guard. I also have records of the subsequent search and dispatch of the Coast Guard after the Algonquin was reported missing—all in the general area that the Eclipse ship went missing.”
“Great,” Jack cut in. “You have an abundance of time and illegal resources to track communication in the area. And what did you discover?”
“Mr. Morell,” she started. “The stellar reputation of BLUE-LINK is critical to me, as you can imagine.”
“I can’t imagine anything. I don’t even know you.”
Mist Page 9
